


Deja Vu

by jujukittychick



Series: LJ tamingthemuse prompts [18]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Community: stories_a_z, Community: tamingthemuse, Gen, Hopeful Ending, My First Work in This Fandom, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 12:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3381674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujukittychick/pseuds/jujukittychick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle, Bilbo goes home, the pain of losing the sons of Durin still plaguing him only to be faced with familiar faces in the most unlikely place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deja Vu

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit or Lord of the Ring and am making no money; I am doing this for my own fun and entertainment. The fandom belongs to its respective creators and owners who *are* making money off them.
> 
> Prompt: tamingthemuse #448- Rabies, stories_a_z - D
> 
> A/N: I have never read the books. I have only watched the LotR movies once and only the first two Hobbit movies (I’m not emotionally ready for the end of the third). This is my first time writing in this fandom, be nice. This is sorta fix-it fic, a chance for the Durins to get a happier ending, as such timelines have been manipulated to fit as I please. Also, if you want to see it as Bilbo having deeper feelings for any of the Durins, feel free, but it’s not written as such.

It was almost two years after the Battle before Bilbo returned to the Shire and his home, Bag End.  He had not meant to stay away so long, but there had been so much to be done and he was so unbelievably weary, emotionally and physically. 

 

First there had been the funerals, so many funerals, but none more important, to him at least, than those for the sons of Durin.  The Company, with the help of Dain’s people had managed to clear out the path to the royal tombs.  Bilbo, completely useless in the task of mining or excavating, helped as he could in tents set up outside Erebor to deal with the numerous wounded and dying.  Here, at least, prejudices were put aside as it didn’t matter whether the person was Elf, Dwarf, or Man, all were seen to equally, the only qualifying factor being how injured and close to death they were. 

 

When the day of the funerals came, Thorin, Fili, and Kili had funerals fit for the royalty they were.  All the members of The Company were given places of honor along with Thorin’s cousin Dain and his family, Thranduil, Gandalf, and Bard as the Dwarrows sang their funeral songs in their language, the foreign words and mournful tone echoing so deep inside some part of Bilbo that he knew he’d never be able to forget, sending off the three royals with as fine an accompaniment as could ever be had. 

 

Bilbo had felt no shame in the tears that came that day…and that night…and the morning that followed; indeed, he wondered how he still possessed the tears to cry, surely his eyes should have been dry by then, but still they came at the most random moments.  He could do nothing but remember how full of life and energy the boys had been, always a smile on their faces as they teased each other relentlessly; so full of fire and near glowing with that inherent _something_ that marked them as royalty as they took command and came into their own.  He had been as proud of the boys at the end as if they had been his own kin, truly children of his heart.  And Thorin… stubborn, determined, Thorin.  Bilbo remembered the first image he had of him standing inside his modest home, of him fighting goblins and trolls and orcs, of him standing on the Carrock as he looked towards his former home in the distance.  Even at his worst, even when in the worst circumstances, Thorin had always had an air of dignity about him, carried himself in the manner of a true king…even when he was being a bullheaded fool.  Oh, Bilbo had no illusions that the three were without their faults, he knew first hand, had often been the first of the group to be subjected to the consequences of their actions (three trolls and dangling from the battlements came the easiest to mind), but their good overrode all that to him.  He would have forgiven them anything and everything in the world if he could know they would only be there to rule over the people they had fought so hard for, though he already had forgiven them in truth.  He’d never forget Thorin’s final words to him as he clutched his hand there on the ice, he only wished he could have told the boys goodbye as well, but they were forever beyond the reach of his voice by the time he’d made it to their bodies.

 

So, yes, funerals for Dwarf, Elf, and Man and Bilbo thought that all the blood and tears spilt on the land those first few weeks should have brought what had come to be known only as the Desolation back to life as it couldn’t bring back their friends, but nature did not work that way.  By then, Winter had truly set in and there was no way to safely make it back home anyway, so Bilbo took the room offered him in Erebor and assisted where he could with conferences between the different leaders, often acting as mediator between the bullheaded males, trying to soothe tempers and lend some semblance of intelligent thought when they would once again slip into what he saw as petty grievances considering all that happened.  When not in conferences with the leaders, he helped out the members of The Company where he could, Oin with healing, Bombur with cooking, scouting out areas too small for the Dwarrows to fit where walls had collapsed for Bofur and Bifur, sorting documents in the library with Balin and Ori, helping Dwalin and Gloin sort out and repair weapons, running errands for Dori and Nori.  It kept him busy, his thoughts focused on something other than the losses they had faced and knew that it did the same for his friends.

 

By Spring, Bilbo had grown closer with his friends through their shared grief and was convinced to stay until Thorin’s sister, the boys’ mother, Dis arrived so that he could offer proper condolences.  He sent a letter back to the Shire to his favorite cousin, Drogo, explaining his absence and why he still had yet to return home. He visited Dale and the survivors from Lake Town, helping Bard with the planning for crops which would help feed both Dale and Erebor.  He visited Thranduil and Legolas, often on behalf of the Dwarrows as they still had problems speaking peaceably with the Elves, and learned what he could of Elven ways.

 

Come Fall, Dis and the first group of Dwarrows from the Blue Mountains arrived to inhabit their former home.  Bilbo could see so much of Thorin and the boys in Dis that he had to excuse himself shortly after meeting her so he could cry in his room in peace.  He had thought the pain had lessened, but instead it had apparently simply waited to rear its head once more.  Dis had found him that evening and asked for stories about her boys, her brother, and in their shared stories they shared their grief also and made a new friendship that would become as solid as that of any he had with The Company.

 

Soon enough, it was Winter once more and Bilbo was again unable to travel, though he honestly felt no rush to return to his empty home after being surrounded by such warmth and friendship as he found in Erebor.  But, as little as he may have wanted to return to the Shire and its peaceful ways, he knew he must.  If for no other reason than so he could make proper arrangements for Bag End and meet the new little cousins he had been told about in letters from his cousin.

 

When Spring came once more, Bilbo said goodbye to his friends and siblings of his heart in Erebor, even Thranduil and Legolas came to say their goodbyes to their friend.  Accompanied once more by Gandalf, the two set off, stopping in Dale a short while to say goodbye to Bard and his children and some of the other Men he’d become acquainted with in the past year.  He and Gandalf made no hurry, stopping when they felt like it, lingering in some places, visiting Beorn for several days, stopping in Rivendell to visit with Elrond and his children, including a little boy that was being fostered with them named Estel that Bilbo took quite a liking too and had no problem telling tales of his journey to every night of their weeks long stay.

 

Frost was on the ground in the mornings when Bilbo and Gandalf arrived in Bree.  Gandalf took his leave, assured Bilbo could make it home safely from the city, and perhaps knowing that the most unusual Hobbit would need the time alone to become accustomed to the home and people he’d left behind so suddenly.  And so it was that Bilbo Baggins of Bag End arrived home to the Shire, completely alone except for the small pony he led which carried those belongings he couldn’t stand to leave behind, Sting in its place on his hip and ring in his vest pocket.

 

It took several more weeks to eject the Sackville-Baggins relatives that had taken up residence in _his_ home and retrieve the items they had sold or squirreled away in their own homes and set his home to rights once more.  And so, with a hint of snow in the air, and his heart weighing heavy with memories of another Winter day not so long ago, Bilbo was pleased enough for the distraction of meeting his new little cousins and having company in his lonely, quiet home once again.  And when he learned that it was, strangely (as most Hobbits tended to be born in the warmer months) near enough to all of their birthing days, he decided to make it one grand celebration.

 

Pushing back unhappy memories, Bilbo focused solely on the party and spent the day before baking pies and cakes and all manners of items that would sit well until the next day.  The day of the party was spent with those items that had to be cooked that day, rushing to and fro as he cleaned and decorated between stirrings and turnings and bastings.  He had heard the whispers in the market as he shopped, “Mad Baggins” they had started calling him, and wanted to make a good impression on his favorite cousins and their children who had never met him before, though they were probably too young to remember much about him for a couple years yet.

 

When his guests finally arrived that evening, it was a flurry of removed coats and scarves and enthusiastic greetings and hugs, so it was only right that Bilbo was completely stunned when he got the first look at his youngest cousins, falling back a couple steps as he clutched at his chest…right?

 

“Cousin Bilbo? Bilbo! Whatever is the matter?”

 

Bilbo could barely hear the words, nor feel the hands tugging at his sleeves and urging him to sit, his gaze rooted on the three tiny faces staring back at him so steadily. The first two, both with dark blonde hair much like his own, and features so similar as to be siblings, though they were cousins in truth, looked at him with smiles on their faces, blue and brown eyes twinkling with mischief already though they were barely old enough to walk on their own.  The third, dark of hair with a steady, though happy, look to him looked up at him through blue eyes as well.  He had seen these eyes, looked into them on so many occasions in those fateful months, had never seen that particular shade of blue in any other in the years since, nor that shade of brown except in Dis, and since had dubbed them Durin blue and brown, if only to himself.  In that moment, with the fire dancing merrily in the hearth and his hands clutching at his vest, his older cousins and their spouses speaking to him with concern, three tiny faces staring happily up at him, his gaze became hazy with unshed tears and he could swear he saw an image of the lost Durins ghosting above each of the children, a smile on those beloved faces once more.  “My boys …” his voice was barely a whisper as he spoke and opened his arms, the two blondes stumbling into the welcoming grasp first, slightly more steady on their feet than their younger cousin, being hugged tightly as their parents looked on in confusion. Staring over the blonde heads at the image of Thorin that smiled at him so happily, Bilbo blinked, the tears falling lightly down his cheeks as he saw a smiling little boy looking back at him and he reached out once more, “You too,” smiling as the little boy tumbled into his arms.

 

Bilbo ignored the adults, pulling the three fauntlings onto his lap as he cuddled them close, smiling tearily as they babbled unintelligibly up at him, nodding much as he would when Bifur spoke to him in Khudzul.  “I know, I’ve missed so much, and I’ve so much to tell you.”

 

Bilbo was truly a terrible host that night, almost completely ignoring all but three of his guests, eating only when the little ones complained themselves and never venturing far away from them.  Their parents thought it was the oddest thing, but perhaps to be expected of such a Hobbit who would leave his home and everyone he knew behind to go on an _adventure_. But they could find no fault in the attention showered on their little ones, nor doubt the love they saw in the gaze that landed on each of the three.  And the brief explanation of “they remind me of some people I held very dear that I lost in battle” brought their questions to an end, for what kind of Hobbit fought in battle much less lost loved ones there, it was unheard of.  And they all knew, if nothing else, their children would always have a home if something should happen, and what parent could want anything else for their precious child.

 

Unfortunately, two years later, that hunch was put to the test when young Frodo’s parents died in a boating accident.  Bilbo did not hesitate to take in his young cousin, though he had taken on the role of uncle to the three youngest cousins, feeling more comfortable in the role considering their differing ages.  And with Frodo, came frequent visits from little Pippin and Merry, always together and getting into mischief, brothers at heart if not in reality, and reminding Bilbo always of two other mischief makers he had known.  Frodo himself tended to be more serious than the other two, acting as the voice of reason when the two got carried away in planning their pranks, naturally taking on the role of leader though he was the youngest.  Soon enough, his neighbor’s youngest son, Sam, became friends with the happy youngsters, a solid and cautious presence where the other three were often much more adventurous.

 

As the years passed, he saw so much of his beloved Durins in his nephews, and he never turned down a request to tell the boys about his friends and family of his heart, about their adventures across Middle Earth to reclaim a lost home, and the greatest sacrifice they could have made.  The boys always got a strange look when he told stories of Fili, Kili, and Thorin, as if almost remembering something before it flitted away once more.  Bilbo never saw the ghostly visions of the sons of Durin after that first fateful night, but he couldn’t doubt their presence in something the boys would chance to say, or a pose they would take, or a look on their face, always fleeting, but still there and a comfort nonetheless.

 

Decades passed and Bag End was filled with happiness and laughter once again as the boys got older, visitors from the West would come, stirring up gossip in town as these strange Dwarves and Men and Elves sought out one Bilbo Baggins.  Those nights, the windows to Bag End would be thrown open, light and laughter spilling from them and bringing a smile to his neighbor’s faces at the merry making going on even if they couldn’t understand the whys.  And in the nights, when his nephews had finally fallen asleep, Bilbo could never help turning to his guest, be it Legolas, Gandalf, or one of The Company and asking, “You see it too, right?” He was always answered with an affirmative, though after their first sudden stop when looking into all too familiar eyes there really was little doubt, but he _had_ to ask, to ensure it was not just his own wishful thinking.

 

But time is not always a gentle master, and just as it had taken the sons of Durin from Bilbo and Frodo’s parents, so did it bring the stirrings of darkness and evil, and the ring that Bilbo had kept tucked away in a box on his dresser began calling to him, first in the darkness, and then in light, to the point that he once more carried it with him always, not realizing how it twisted his mind.

 

It was not until, on one of Gandalf’s visits, Bilbo managed to drop the ring, and Frodo, his sweet Frodo, picked it up, driving Bilbo into a rage, yelling and screaming at his beloved nephew, trying to attack him like a rabid dog before Gandalf was able to shock him back to his senses.  He had never seen such a look as that on the face of Frodo, but knew it must have been similar to the one he wore as he was being held over the battlements by Thorin.  He knew then what must be done, the madness that had overtaken him leaving little doubt in its wake that he could not bear to subject his precious Frodo to something like that again.

 

Once again he left Bag End, though this time Bilbo doubted he would ever return again, and in the company of his nephews and their dear friend Sam and Gandalf, it felt almost like the start of something amazing, but the closer to Elrond’s lands they ventured, the more it felt of something ending.  He could not be sad though, his body was old and tired quickly; he knew that this would be the final stop on his journey.

 

Bilbo was greeted warmly by his old friends, happily introducing his nephews and their friend, nodding at the subtly surprised looks the Elves gave him upon seeing the three boys.  Discussions were had, decisions made, and The Fellowship formed, and through it all, Bilbo could only watch, worry gnawing at his heart for his three boys.  What if he lost them again? He did not have much time left to this world, but surely he could not be made to live through their deaths once more. For, even though he had grown to love each of his nephews for their own traits and personalities, deep down, he still remembered what he had seen the first night he met them.  Was it too much to ask that those three brave souls got to live out a long happy life?

 

A gentle hand fell on his shoulder and he tilted his head back to look up into the Elf queen’s face. Her gentle gaze was steady as she looked down at him. “They have old souls, dear Bilbo, they will be fine.  They will not make it through this journey without hardships and challenges, but they will be fine in the end.”

 

He nodded his thanks, unable to speak and watched as the group readied themselves for the beginning of their journey the next morning, his heart feeling lighter as he watched little Gimli (not so little now) and Legolas bickering already like an old married couple, and of course his nephews and Sam goofing around even as Sam and Frodo would look at each other with a note of seriousness in their gazes occasionally.

 

“I do believe that Frodo and the boys have made a very good choice in friends in young Sam.  Reminds me of another young Hobbit I knew, willing to venture into the unknown.”

 

Bilbo looked up at Gandalf, smiling at his words before looking back at the four youngest of the group, seeing with different eyes this time the way Merry and Pippin followed Frodo’s instructions and Sam stood behind them, nervous but steadfast.  Of course, it wasn’t quite the same, but enough similarities were there for him to feel more confident about the overall success of their venture.  He could only hope and pray to whatever gods would listen to an old Hobbit that they had a happier conclusion than his own journey.

 

The next morning came too quickly and all too soon he was saying his goodbyes.  Looking at his nephews, Bilbo gave them a watery smile, “I am so proud of you boys; I’m just sorry I can’t go on this adventure with you. No matter what, take care of yourselves and each other.  Come back to me.”

 

Hugs were given, farewells given and The Fellowship took the first steps on their long journey, and as Bilbo stood at the gates, watching his loved ones walk off, tears clouded his eyes and he saw three familiar people, long missed though never forgotten, turn back to wave at him, broad smiles on their faces in anticipation for their newest adventure.

 

~The End~

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. I bawled like a little kid writing this so I hope it at least made you sniffle, just cause misery enjoys company


End file.
